


offal. (rusame.)

by maledictus



Series: lucis' drabble requests. [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, bonnie and clyde au, cannibal!ivan, killer!alfred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 12:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12457722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maledictus/pseuds/maledictus
Summary: drabble request #1: anything nsfw rusame. i went with cannibals and serial killers. what is wrong with me.





	offal. (rusame.)

**Author's Note:**

> got a request for a hetalia drabble? send it into [my tumblr](http://coligo.tumblr.com/ask)! i specialize in rusame, ameliet, dennor, sufin, and lietpol, but i will try my hand at anything.

"...is it wrong that I think that smells good?"

Alfred's familiar weight presses against his back, the sharp angle of his chin digging into his shoulder; Ivan pays him no mind, focusing intently on the sizable cut of flesh cooking in the pan.

"Why would I think that is wrong?"

"'Cuz I'm not Hannibal Lector; that's YOUR job."

The hulking Russian makes a low noise of affirmation in his throat and smiles, gaze still honed in on the meat. He can't pretend that his lover's words don’t flatter him.

"Da. And where would I be without you...?" He tilts his head to the side to brush a dry kiss over his partner's sweat-dampened temple. The grin Alfred flashes him is positively radiant.

"Probably starving in a hole in the ground somewhere. Or in prison."

The rare moment of affection passes, and Ivan returns to preparing his dinner, glossy platinum brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully flips the seared meat over in the pan. Alfred continues to observe his lover in action, his brilliant blue gaze watching the skin contract and bubble from the heat. He can pick out miniscule green leaves and sizable crystals of salt on the crispy surface of the roast, the barest amount of seasonings to bring out the meat's own flavor. For a cannibalistic monster, Ivan is also a culinary genius; and he knows Alfred is watching. Ivan gives him sidelong looks with his byzantine eyes, keenly aware that his lover is intrigued.

It's only when Ivan removes the tenderloin from the heat and wraps it in foil to rest that he notices the smell in the room; not the delicious scent of cooking meat, or the savory smells of thyme and rosemary and coriander that he had used to season it with – it’s a rather unpleasant mix of stale sweat and blood and sex, all things he would normally find appealing if he weren't about to sit down to a lovely meal. There's something unappetizing about it all, particularly when he manages to identify the final, much more disgusting scent in the air.

"Alfred, what have I told you about keeping things quick and clean?" Ivan makes a face at his partner, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Alfred shrugs, leaning against the counter and nonchalantly crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Aw, but it's so fun to make ‘'em piss themselves!" The American's grin does nothing to soothe Ivan's nerves, and he very pointedly rolls his violet eyes at his lover.

"It is very difficult to clean, dorogoy. And it reeks." _Alfred_ reeks, Ivan realizes with a mixture of revulsion and satisfaction. He'd only seen the flash of red in his lover's golden hair out of the corner of his eye while he'd been cooking; it's a very good look for him, though the Russian hadn't realized just how much of his victim's blood Alfred was covered in. His hands and forearms are solid red, like a butcher buried elbow-deep in offal; and those arms had been wrapped around his middle. _Chert_. "If you got any blood on my scarf, yours will be the next to be spilt."

"Chill, babe," Alfred replies easily, hands up in a gesture of submission. "I know better."

Ivan clicks his tongue against his teeth disapprovingly, lifting the ends of his beloved scarf and inspecting them for any stains. When he finds none, he returns his gaze to Alfred's cheekily smiling face and gives him a withering look. "You are lucky you're so handsome, or I would have killed you long ago."

Alfred's smirk only widens at the comment; as Ivan moves to lift the foil and check his expertly-prepared roast, he feels – and _smells_ – those bloody arms come around him, Alfred's broad chest pressed squarely against the Russian's much broader back. "Tell you what – you enjoy your dinner, I'll clean up the room, and then you can clean _me_ up. How's that sound?" The American's warm breath ruffles the baby-fine hairs at the base of Ivan's skull; the larger man can feel his lover's grin ghost over his pale flesh.

_Disorganized serial killers are a strange bunch_ , Ivan thinks as he turns to face his partner and give him a very gratified smile. _But they do come up with some good ideas._

"When did you become a mind-reader, Fredka?"

* * *

"F-fuck, babe, that’s so good-"

Alfred's brassy voice echoes up to the ceiling as the back of his head collides with the tiles of the shower floor. At least Ivan hadn't wanted him face down ass up – he didn't feel like drowning tonight. The Russian merely gives him a noncommittal grunt in return, violet gaze holding the intensity of Aldebaran as he watches his cock slide mercilessly in and out of his keening partner.

"I should be punishing you." Ivan's voice is surprisingly even as he skewers his lover over and over again, each time harder than the first. "I have told you not to flush any human flesh down the toilet, and you continue to defy me. Do you want to go back to prison?"

"At least I-...ah!...didn't toss the liver this t-time, babe," Alfred counters breathlessly, earning a hard tweak to his nipple and crying out in protest.

"Liver has no sustenance, only pleasure," Ivan reminds him with a harsh thrust; his lover cries out shrilly, back arching off the tiles. The Russian shakes the droplets from his wet platinum fringe, his gaze even and unfettered as he watches Alfred writhe beneath him. The liver is, after all, a filtering organ, loaded with toxins and best eaten in small portions to avoid sickness; but it has the most wonderfully smooth texture and taste, infinitely more pleasurable than other organs, second only to the heart. "What you feel now is a much more visceral version of what I feel when I eat it. If you had thrown it out, I would have taken from yours again."

Alfred looks down the length of his body to watch Ivan slam into him; the neat, pale scars on the American's tanned torso glisten with sweat and water, and the sight of them only serves to make his own cock twitch more eagerly than before. "F-fuck, babe, you know I'd love that, please-"

"Nyet, you are not supposed to love that." Ivan punctuates his words with a viciously fast push of his cock into his lover's ass, hissing as Alfred clenches around him. _Chert, I thought I was the fucked up one_ , he thinks bemusedly as he digs a finger into the freshest of the scars and gets a sharp cry in response. Alfred continues to surprise him. "That is a punishment, remember?"

"O-oh, fuck, Vanya-" Alfred's voice is starting to go hoarse, much to Ivan's happiness; perhaps he ought to be sympathetic – for all his faults and shortcomings, Alfred had been good enough to leave him the choicest cuts, and he'd cleaned up his mess without any fuss. Deciding to show a bit of mercy, he tips his lover's hips up and pounds mercilessly at his prostate, making Alfred howl with pleasure and speeding him towards his climax.

"All things considered, I suppose you have been a good boy, Fredka," he purrs, winding the fingers of his free hand around his lover's cock and pumping it in time with his thrusts; Alfred screams and writhes and vainly scrabbles for grip on the blunt edges of the tiles, making a very pretty picture for the cannibal towering over him. "You have been a very good boy."

So what if they find guts in the sewers? So what if they get caught? This crazy train has to stop somewhere, and Ivan might as well enjoy the ride while it lasts.

**Author's Note:**

> translation of russian:  
> chert: damn.  
> dorogoy: sweetheart, beloved.


End file.
